The View From Penthouse B by Elinor Lipman Page B

in lieu of paying rent, making us, in almost every sense, a cooperative. It all evens out, each of us contributing our own talents. As a big fan of Louisa May Alcott, and after my second Blue Lagoon, I expounded one night on Bronson Alcott’s utopian commune. Eventually, I had to renege after looking up Fruitlands, because we weren’t vegans or transcendentalists or farmers. In fact, I have stopped using “commune” even jokingly because Charles, being Charles, hears a note of promiscuity in that word.
    Olivia loves children and misses the baby dreadfully, but she probably won’t be able to continue in the au pair field, having undone one employer’s marriage. Accordingly, the agency has her situation under advisement.

14

Say Anything
    A FTER A TEN-WEEK absence, I forced myself to attend my widows’ support group to work on what my sisters call my “stasis.” My visit was ill timed. Valentine’s Day was approaching, inspiring our group leader to pronounce—in the manner of a decorating-happy classroom teacher—that love and romance were this week’s theme. Her suggestion was that we go around the circle and answer the question, “What am I afraid of?”
    We coughed into our elbows and attended to the vital work of silencing our phones. Katherine Glazer, MSW, tried, “Let’s start with one-word answers. Don’t overthink it. Say the first thing that comes to mind. For example . . .” She looked around, snapped her fingers as if she hadn’t chosen the noun the night before, and called out, “Intimacy!”
    None of us, with our grocery bags and knapsacks at our sensibly shod feet, looked like we had anything to confess along those lines.
    “I am afraid of . . . fill in the blank,” Katherine prompted.
    “Does it have to be something personal?” I asked. “Or can it be a general fear, like death or heights or snakes?”
    She reached over and squeezed my left hand. Was that dismay in her glance, at finding my rings still there? “Let me clarify,” she said. “I want us to discuss what fears keep us from pursuing—what will be our code word for love and romance today? How about just L and R?”
    A hand went up. It was Joanna, one of our most bedraggled members, who wore her grungy orange parka throughout every meeting. “I worry about a prenup,” she told us.
    We waited. Our leader, her features admirably composed, repeated, “A prenup?”
    Joanna asked, “Am I the only one who thinks, What if I got involved with someone who wants to get married? He’d have to sign a prenuptial agreement. So when I picture that conversation and how angry he could get, it just makes me want to stay home and watch TV.”
    “As opposed to what?” asked Hildy, mother of two grown sons who still lived at home. “I mean as opposed to what activity? Going out to parties? Clubbing?”
    “Clubbing means going out to bars and, of course, clubs,” our leader explained.
    Joanna said, “I have my volunteer jobs . . . my subscription to the Philharmonic. I meet people. Some are men. One invited me out for coffee, but I declined.”
    “For the reason stated?” Katherine asked.
    “I didn’t know him,” said Joanna. “And the person who gave him my e-mail address didn’t even know him that well.”
    “It’s called a blind date,” said Katherine, glancing up at the wall clock.
    Hildy said, “One more question for Joanna. Not that I’m into fashion, but my boys give me the once-over before I leave. Sometimes they say, ‘You’re not going out like that, are you?’ I trust them, so I change into something else.”
    “Your question?” Katherine prompted.
    “Right. My question is, let’s say you were going out. What coat would you wear?”
    Before Joanna could answer or take offense, our one attorney-member said, “May I speak as someone who’s negotiated any number of prenups?”
    “Please,” Katherine said.
    “Cross that bridge when you come to it. I haven’t seen one engagement broken because of